


Sex on the Beach

by KateKintail



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Beach Sex, M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 23:11:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateKintail/pseuds/KateKintail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wants to cross this off his bucket list</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex on the Beach

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not my characters and I make no money.

One good thing about traveling the country hunting demons and ghosts and monsters, was being able to travel the country. The Winchesters saw the Grand Canyon, Niagra Falls, the largest ball of twine (and the second largest as well). As a kid, Sam never fully appreciated it. He’d longed for a normal life with a permanent house, friends he could grow up with, and town he could get to know. Seeing the sights along the way was no consolation. 

As an adult, one who’d been locked in a box with Lucifer and Michael, he learned to appreciate what he could get. The beauty of heat lightning across the vast stretches of a dry desert, the crunch of leaves underfoot in the mountains, even the taste of Biggerson’s cherry pie when Dean forced him to try a piece.

But with the virtually limitless country stretched out before them, the one thing Sam couldn’t manage to appreciate was the sand. Because it was fucking everywhere and got into everything and how the hell was that supposed to be enjoyable?

The sand is cool and hard against his back, the warmth of the sun having left it hours ago at sunset. He tries to concentrate on the relaxing sound of waves lapping against the beach, but instead of relaxing him, he starts worrying that the tide is coming in too quickly. “Can we go back to the motel?” Sam finally asks. 

Dean, trying to figure out what pocket of his jeans he put the condom in, shakes his head. Sam can’t see much by the light of the crescent moon, but he can see that. “We’re crossing sex on the beach off our bucket list tonight.”

“Your bucket list, maybe…”

“C’mon. You’re going to love this.” With a whoop of triumph, Dean pulls out the condom and rips the package open with his teeth. He squirts some lube onto himself then onto Sam, stroking Sam’s length with one hand while rolling the condom onto his cock with the other hand. After he spits the package out of his mouth, he shuffles forward on his knees , wedging himself between Sam’s spread legs. 

But the sand is softer than expected and his right knee goes down. Off balance, he falls forward, catching himself with one hand on Sam’s chest and the other in the sand. Sam shouts with pain. Dean swears. And he pulls back with an apologetic look on his face and a hand covered in sand stuck to his lube-slick hand. 

“You are _not_ jerking me off with that now,” Sam says, taking himself in hand. 

“I think there’s sand in the condom as well somehow. And maybe a little on it…”

“Just do it!” Sam says, his knees and thighs rubbing against Dean’s sides. He wants to get this over with, so he can get back to the motel for a shower. But he also desperately wants Dean and wants him now.

Dean slides in, wincing a little as Sam gives a small moan of pain. 

Dean had been right. The sand is everywhere. A light breeze blows some at his face, where it sticks to the sweat on his forehead. It’s soft and grainy between his ass cheeks. And it is in him. But so is Dean. And it’s easier to focus on Dean. The steady rocking, strong thrusts, the urgency of need and understanding and everything else that they are to each other magnified until it takes them both over. 

Sam looks up at the stars when he comes onto his chest. And then the sand sticks to that as well. 

Taking advantage of the empty beach, miles from the nearest house, Dean cries out loudly when he comes. Then he slides out and flops down next to Sam on the sand. 

It takes them a few moments to catch their breaths and a few more to get the energy to stand. Sam grips Dean’s hand and pulls him to his feet. Dean’s back, damp with sweat, is almost as sandy as the beach. Sam spends the hike back to the car trying to wipe sand from the corners of his eyes with a sand-covered hand. 

When they reach the Impala, Dean stops short. He throws out an arm, holding Sam back as well. “We can’t go.”

At first, Sam runs through the possibilities. But there’s no sulfur smell. No temperature drop. No footsteps. No growl of a monster. There’s no case here. No reason not to leave. “Why’s that?”

“We’re not getting sand in my baby.” 

Sam laughs. There’s sand in his mouth; he can taste it. It’s between his toes and under his arms and in his hair and behind his ears. Unless a serious thunderstorm hits in the next minute, there’s no way they’re not getting sand in the car.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Written for Porn Battle XV: The Ides of Porn. Prompt: Supernatural, Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester, sand, sweat


End file.
